Early morning in a birthing hospital, amid the joyous sound of a baby's first cry, my wife gave birth to silence.

When my wife told me last Friday that she felt no movement from the baby, I was only slightly alarmed. After all, something similar had happened the day before, and after a visit to the doctor, everything checked out fine. In fact, throughout all of my wife's pregnancies, we always had reason to panic at some point or another, only to find out later that the miracle of birth had proceeded as scheduled, thank God.

However, when the doctor told me in his calm but serious voice that I ought to take my wife for an ultrasound, since, for the first time, he was unable to locate the heartbeat, I too began to worry like never before. There we were, one week before the due date, erev Shabbos Nachamu which comes to console us after Tisha B'Av, rushing across Jerusalem to the hospital to confirm something that we thought could never -- and would never -- happen to us.

For years we had dreamed of a fifth child and another daughter. Our first daughter, who turned eleven that Shabbos Nachamu, longed for a sister after an interval of three brothers (who wouldn't?). And we waited with baited breath to see if we could deliver the most fantastic birthday present we could be a part of: a baby sister.

However, as the doctors at the hospital continuously searched for that heartbeat, any heartbeat and a sign of life -- first with the monitor, and then through the ultrasound -- hope faded with each passing second. The terrifying and unacceptable reality of a fetal death hit us like irreversible nightmare. By the time the doctors began discussing the importance and procedure of immediately removing the baby, we had descended into a state of emotional shock. Though they tried to convince us to stay, we instead opted to return home for Shabbos to deal with the nightmare.

Never before had I experienced such a sense of futility. To have come so far, for my wife to have experienced so much, and then for what? And what was worse, and uncomfortably ironic, we would have to go through all the normal procedures of giving life to a new human being, and right among those who would do exactly that, except that when all the pain was over and the time came to go home, we would leave without the cherished new child it was all done for. Never before had the words, "Vanity of vanities, it is all vanity..." rang so true for me.

And there was the overwhelming sense of guilt. What did I do to cause this to happen, and so close to the end? Both my wife and I asked ourselves this question, while each of us assured the other that it was not his or her fault. As we began to work it through to try to find meaning in what had happened and what we were about to go through, it began to occur to us that we had made some mistaken assumptions. Perhaps what had happened had been planned long before the signs of it happening became obvious.

From the mystical perspective, a miscarriage or a stillborn child represents the final stage of a spiritual rectification for a soul before it can arrive at its final stage of eternal bliss. It is a beautiful and holy idea, but otherworldly. Parents conceive children to bring them into the world, to give them life, and to share whatever they have with them... to nurture them from their state of total vulnerability to an age of independence and self-worth. Being a vehicle or a way station for a migrating soul is not what the average parent has in mind when going through nine months of pregnancy (and all that it brings), and the birth process.

Very early Monday morning in a birthing hospital, amid the screams of other women giving birth, followed by that joyous sound of a baby's first cry, my wife gave birth to silence. At first the midwife thought that the baby might have developed improperly. This was a temporary relief, because it means that we had been spared the birth of an unhealthy child. But the birth itself confirmed two painful facts: the child had been healthy, and a girl, a beautiful baby girl. It turned out that the umbilical cord had been responsible.

I was devastated. My wife had been very brave until the very last moment, and cradled the baby and spoke to her lovingly and sympathetically. For my part, words flew through my mind, like those of Job who suffered a far greater personal disaster losing his entire family: God gives and God takes... But I also heard words such as, "How could you do this to us, God? How could you tease us so... taking us down the road to so close to the end, and then snatch 'victory' away from us at the last moment... and make us go through the motions, for what? For a lifeless child to whom we will never be able to give, or hold again?"

But I also remembered the words of Rebbe Akiva, who, upon being tortured to death by the Romans, recited the Shema. His students were amazed that at such a personally painful moment, Rebbe Akiva could find it within himself to confirm the hand of God in all that he was going through, as if it had been no different from the happier, more successful moments in life.

"Even now, rebbe?" the students asked incredulously.

What did the great Rebbe Akiva answer his students?

"All of my life I have said the words, 'You shall love the Lord your God with all of your heart, all of your soul, and all of your possessions.' I have done so with my yetzer tov (good inclination) and my yetzer hara (bad inclination), and with all my possessions as well. And every day it pained me that I could not yet serve God with all of my soul... Now that the opportunity has presented itself, should I ignore it and turn away?"

As a rabbi and writer, I have dealt with the topic of suffering, in order to help others to work through theirs and grow closer to God. But, thank God, tragedy is something that I had seemed to approach on several occasions, but in the end, had escaped. It gave my words of spiritual consolation a "tinny" sound to them; all of sudden, that sound faded and was replaced by the sound of crying.

My wife and I took turns holding our daughter, whom we named Shalva (tranquility), amazed at her beauty and purity. We desperately looked for a way to infuse a lifeless situation with meaning and life. It was not easy to do, for we had lived for almost a year with the belief that the baby had been ours, and destined to live out a normal, healthy and fulfilling life. We of course had no idea of God's alternative plan for our child. HIS reality and OUR reality, that week, came head on like two trains fighting for the same trestle, at the same time.

It is the total acceptance of God's reality that turns "hevel" (vanity) into "hevel" (breath of life).

Perhaps that was Shalva's greatest contribution to us. We learned through her short and hidden existence that, until that moment, we had merely paid lip service to that dual reality of God's master plan, and our own version of it. Through Shalva, within our minds, those two realities merged (though with resistance).

I became better suited to hear the message of Moshe's final parting words to the anxious Jewish nation:

"Now, Israel, what does God, your God want from you, but that you should fear God, your God and walk in all of His ways and to love Him, and to serve God, your God with all your heart, and with all your soul ..." (Deut.10:12) …even when one is denied the child she sought to have had, or worse, when, God forbid, the child one did have is returned to his Creator early.

We wish that our daughter had been born -- oh, do we wish we could have showed her our love, and the love of her family. It will take time to accept the finality of the situation. Perhaps we will always blame ourselves on some level for what could have been, but wasn't.

What amazes me the most, in the end, is how much love we feel for her, even though we never had the chance to know her at all -- something I believe made possible only after accepting life in this world to be as God sees it. This is the true basis of fear of God, which Moshe alluded to in his final words above, and which King Solomon used as the antidote to perceived meaninglessness in this world. It is the total acceptance of God's reality that turns "hevel" (vanity) into "hevel" (breath of life), and which allows us to accept our roles as "facilitators" for the spiritual completion of our fifth child, and second daughter.

For those who have known such tragedies, or worse, may the light and promise of the future provide hope and consolation, and bring only joy. For those who have not faced such adversity, may your sensitivity to the suffering of others be your merit to avoid tragedy. And may the merit of all the kindness showed to us by our family and friends, and to the countless others who have known pain and suffering, hasten the arrival of Moshiach and the third and final Temple.

Featured at Aish.com:

About the Author

Rabbi Pinchas Winston, an Aish alumni, is the author of over 50 books on Torah philosophy, the weekly parshah sheet PERCEPTIONS, and his site Thirtysix.org. He hosts the “Ask the Rabbi” radio show for Arutz Sheva (Israel National Radio), and is in the process of translating into English "Sha’ar HaGilgulim," the Arizal’s work on reincarnation (completed chapters can be viewed at: http://shaarhagilgulim.thirtysix.org/Shaar_HaGilgulim/Introduction.html).

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 11

(11)
suri,
April 4, 2011 3:22 AM

no instrument to measure the pain

it happened to me and for 7 years i have had to live with this pain. i am a new person - a child of gd that became closer and needier for him only. a broken heart never to become complete - try your best that is all hashem wants. there is no instrument to measure pain - its huge - but i promise just like gd told rachel to comfort her for her children "there is merit" you will get schar for the suffering which is immeasurable.
reach out and help others.

(10)
Randi Abrams-Caras,
September 16, 2007 8:48 PM

My baby girl, Pelli Leah, was born still at 39 weeks 2 days six weeks ago on 8/4/07. I have been asking why and seeking wisdom. We discovered Pelli wasn't moving erev Shabbos and I delivered her the next day. It has been the most heartbreaking experience of my life. Thank you for this piece.

(9)
Laurie Melenka,
March 3, 2006 12:00 AM

On the 11th birthday of my stillborn son, Floyd, thank you.

(8)
Anonymous,
July 25, 2004 12:00 AM

On a similar experience

Our first son, Menachem, was born with a birth defect and died 2 hours later. It was during the 3 weeks. We also feel the incredible intense love, and our children have been taught that they have a brother and they love him, too.

(7)
Anonymous,
March 26, 2003 12:00 AM

SOME THOUGHTS ON MY SAME EXPERIENCE

RABBI WINSTON WROTE A BEAUTIFUL AND POIGNANT ARTICLE. I ALSO WENT THROUGH THE SAME EXPERIENCE. IT WAS THE WORST TIME IN MY LIFE AND I STILL HAVE MOMENTS NOW - 16 YEARS LATER, OF SADNESS AND WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN AND WHAT DID I DO WRONG. AND THEN I REMIND MYSELF IT IS ALL IN HASHEM'S HAND. AND FOR MY NECHAMA (MY BABY'S NAME), AS TOLD TO ME BY A SPECIAL REBETZIN, IT MEANT NOT HAVING TO GO THROUGH THE TRIALS OF GALUS BUT BEING ABLE TO GO RIGHT BACK UP TO THE KISAY HAKOVOD! I HAVE ALSO LEARNED THAT EVEN SOMETHING AS TERRIBLE (FOR US PARENTS) AS HAVING A STILLBORN, THERE ARE WORSE SITUATIONS WITH NEWBORNS. I WORK IN A NICU AND THERE ARE SOME VERY HEART-WRENCHING TIMES AND EXTREMELY HARD DECISIONS THAT SOME PARENTS HAVE TO MAKE.
YOU SHOULD CONTINUE TO GAIN STRENTGH FROM HASHEM, FAMILY, AND FRIENDS. AND ENJOY EVERY MOMENT WITH YOUR CHILDREN AND MAY YOU BE WORTHY OF ONLY SIMCHA IN YOUR LIVES.

(6)
Anonymous,
December 29, 2002 12:00 AM

When A Soul Soars

May Hashem Bless Your Courage for sharing this beautiful experience. I have known many who have suffered this same loss. The beauty is the love and caring you gave, the respect for Shalva. You as parents held her and cherished her. What joy you have brought to her and all of us.
If we look for a logical reason why this had happened then we must look to Hashem's decision not to give the Breath of Life at this time to the body and soul. The soul of Shalva must have a greater purpose and this was not the right time.

(5)
sbrifman,
December 25, 2002 12:00 AM

excellent article

I have enjoyed the work of Rabbi Winston. This article articulates his wonderful and sensitive teaching ability . Thank you.

(4)
Deborah Scop,
December 24, 2002 12:00 AM

Thank you for writing what I know were difficult words.

I think one of the worst, most unbearable pains in this world is the loss of a baby. My husband and I are still recovering from losing our own Baby Yonah who died from SIDS, after being born at 29 weeks, and after surviving his first six weeks in the hospital. He was home for just four days before he died on the second day of Pesach. Afterwards my husband and I desperately tried to find a "Gam Zu Le'Tova" why This Too Is For the Best.
One thing I came up with is that Yonah came to bring goodness into the world. Because of him, there were so much happiness, and so many good deeds were done because of him. All the people who stood up for me on the train, all the people who came to visit us at the hospital. All the people who brought me food, and who showed up at the hospital so I would have company during those long hours watching over the baby in the NICU. All the people who made us entire meals so we could even have company on Shabbos, and still stay at the hospital till the very last second. One friend, who has 11 children, even lent me one of her girls to help clean my apartment for Passover! And the kindness even continued after the baby's death. Maybe there was a reason why G-D needed to bring all this extra kindness and goodness into the world. I don't know why. I know I miss Yonah more than anything in the world.

(3)
Barbara,
December 23, 2002 12:00 AM

Words of Comforrt

I can totally relate to the words of Rabbi Winston. I lost a daughter 12 yrs ago, a stillbirth, at 38 wks. I found comfort in reading tehilim and was able to regain the strenghth to move on and have a beautiful healthy son. One must never lose faith, even in times of despair.

(2)
Anonymous,
December 22, 2002 12:00 AM

More than serenity - recognizing G-d's chesed

Decades ago we (my first wife and I) lost our dear baby boy through an "accident" of my own culpability. After two decades of mulling it over, I began to see how each event from then till now became an essential part of G-d's desire to keep me in the Torah world and grow. I never forget my baby son, but I no longer grieve, strange as it may seem.

(1)
Beverly Adams,
December 22, 2002 12:00 AM

A story to touch the hearts of all who have suffered and wondered WHY?

I’m wondering what happened to the House of David. After the end of the Kingdom of Judah was there any memory what happened to King David’s descendants? Is there any family today which can trace its lineage to David – and whom the Messiah might descend from?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Thank you for your good question. There is no question that King David’s descendants are alive today. God promised David through Nathan the Prophet that the monarchy would never depart from his family (II Samuel 7:16). The prophets likewise foretell the ultimate coming of the Messiah, descendant of David, the “branch which will extend from the trunk of Jesse,” who will restore the Davidic dynasty and Israel’s sovereignty (Isaiah 11:1, see also Jeremiah 33:15, Ezekiel 37:25).

King David’s initial dynasty came to an end with the destruction of the First Temple and the Babylonian Exile. In an earlier expulsion King Jehoiachin was exiled by Nebuchadnezzar, together with his family and several thousand of the Torah scholars and higher classes (II Kings 24:14-16). Eleven years later the Temple was destroyed. The final king of Judah, Jehoiachin’s uncle Zedekiah, was too exiled to Babylonia. He was blinded and his children were executed (II Kings 25:7).

However, Jehoiachin and his descendants did survive in exile. Babylonian cuneiform records actually attest to Jehoiachin and his family receiving food rations from the government. I Chronicles 3:17:24 likewise lists several generations of his descendants (either 9 or 15 generations, depending on the precise interpretation of the verses), which would have extended well into the Second Temple era. (One was the notable Zerubbabel, grandson of Jehoiachin, who was one of the leaders of the return to Zion and the construction the Second Temple.)

In Babylonia, the leader of the Jewish community was known as the Reish Galuta (Aramaic for “head of the exile,” called the Exilarch in English). This was a hereditary position recognized by the Babylonian government. Its bearer was generally quite wealthy and powerful, well-connected to the government and wielding much authority over Babylonian Jewry.

According to Jewish tradition, the Exilarch was a direct descendant of Jehoiachin. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 5a) understands Genesis 49:10 – Jacob’s blessing to Judah that “the staff would not be removed from Judah” – as a reference to the Exilarchs in Babylonia, “who would chastise Israel with the staff,” i.e., who exercised temporal authority over the Jewish community. It stands to reason that these descendants of Judah were descendants of David’s house, who would have naturally been the leaders of the Babylonian community, in fulfillment of God’s promise to David that authority would always rest in his descendants.

There is also a chronological work, Seder Olam Zutta (an anonymous text from the early Middle Ages), which lists 39 generations of Exilarchs beginning with Jehoiachin. One of the commentators to Chronicles, the Vilna Gaon, states that the first one was Elionai of I Chronicles 3:23.

The position of Exilarch lasted for many centuries. The Reish Galuta is mentioned quite often in the Talmud. As can be expected, some were quite learned themselves, some deferred to the rabbis for religious matters, while some, especially in the later years, fought them and their authority tooth and nail.

Exilarchs existed well into the Middle Ages, throughout the period of the early medieval scholars known as the Gaonim. The last ones known to history was Hezekiah, who was killed in 1040 by the Babylonian authorities, although he was believed to have had sons who escaped to Iberia. There are likewise later historical references to descendants of the Exilarchs, especially in northern Spain (Catelonia) and southern France (Provence).

Beyond that, there is no concrete evidence as to the whereabouts of King David’s descendants. Supposedly, the great French medieval sage Rashi (R. Shlomo Yitzchaki) traced his lineage to King David, although on a maternal line. (In addition, Rashi himself had only daughters.) The same is said of Rabbi Yehuda Loewe of Prague (the Maharal). Since Ashkenazi Jews are so interrelated, this is a tradition, however dubious today, shared by many Ashkenazi Jews.

In any event, we do not need be concerned today how the Messiah son of David will be identified. He will be a prophet, second only to Moses. God Himself will select him and appoint him to his task. And he himself, with his Divine inspiration, will resolve all other matters of Jewish lineage (Maimonides Hilchot Melachim 12:3).

Yahrtzeit of Kalonymus Z. Wissotzky, a famous Russian Jewish philanthropist who died in 1904. Wissotzky once owned the tea concession for the Czar's entire military operation. Since the Czar's soldiers numbered in the millions and tea drinking was a daily Russian custom, this concession made Wissotzky very rich. One day, Wissotzky was approached by the World Zionist Organization to begin a tea business in Israel. He laughed at this preposterous idea: the market was small, the Turkish bureaucracy was strict, and tea leaves from India were too costly to import. Jewish leaders persisted, and Wissotzky started a small tea company in Israel. After his death, the tea company passed to his heirs. Then in 1917, the communists swept to power in Russia, seizing all of the Wissotzky company's assets. The only business left in their possession was the small tea company in Israel. The family fled Russia, built the Israeli business, and today Wissotzky is a leading brand of tea in Israel, with exports to countries worldwide -- including Russia.

Building by youth may be destructive, while when elders dismantle, it is constructive (Nedarim 40a).

It seems paradoxical, but it is true. We make the most important decisions of our lives when we are young and inexperienced, and our maximum wisdom comes at an age when our lives are essentially behind us, and no decisions of great moment remain to be made.

While the solution to this mystery eludes us, the facts are evident, and we would be wise to adapt to them. When we are young and inexperienced, we can ask our elders for their opinion and then benefit from their wisdom. When their advice does not coincide with what we think is best, we would do ourselves a great service if we deferred to their counsel.

It may not be popular to champion this concept. Although we have emerged from the era of the `60s, when accepting the opinion of anyone over thirty was anathema, the attitude of dismissing older people as antiquated and obsolete has-beens who lack the omniscience of computerized intelligence still lingers on.

Those who refuse to learn from the mistakes of the past are doomed to repeat them. We would do well to swallow our youthful pride and benefit from the teachings of the school of experience.

Today I shall...

seek advice from my elders and give more serious consideration to deferring to their advice when it conflicts with my desires.

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